The Light is only slightly more visible, two candles lighted this week. It’s enough to increase hope, but still the future, even the present, is pretty fuzzy, unclear, reminiscent of the process that the man who was being healed by Jesus from his blindness in the the Gospel of Mark, Chapter 8. So once again I am called to use my other senses. Some liturgical calendars list this week’s candle as the candle Peace, so I listen for Peace. I am still listening, grateful for the phrases that hum in my brain–“the messenger shall speak Peace,” “Peace, be still,”and “the Peace of God which passes understanding will keep your heart and mind.” And now I am trying to engage some other senses.
Some of the senses of touch in my experiences outside feel clear–the breeze on my skin, the warmth of the sun, the solidity of the trunk of tree, the wind that blows through waves, trees, fields flowers. Can I learn from my Celtic spiritual teachers that these touches on my skin, face, and body can bring peace to me from the Holy One, a reminder that Christ in in all of creation and parts the world? And inside my house, as a person who has been given so much, can I learn that the warmth of the fire, the softness of the blanket, the texture of the faithful dog all are prompts to remind me that the One who speaks Peace is bringing it now and always?
I sense and hum the anthem which sings in my heart, through the misty view in which I cannot see clearly:
Deep peace of the running wave to you,
deep peace of the flowing air to you, deep peace of the quiet earth to you, deep peace of the shining stars to you, deep peace of the gentle night you, moon and stars shine their quiet lighten you, deep peace of Christ to you.
Even though I cannot see clearly this second week Advent, I can be at peace.